I'm grateful for seeing a fellow during my run and getting an update on how he's settling into Denver. I'm grateful for creating and getting through my checklist of errands. I'm grateful for morning routines that wake me up and give me a sense of early accomplishment. I'm grateful for a brief respite from the summer heat. I'm grateful a qualification where the lead spoke about taking care of her parents as they age and the associated difficulties, but knowing despite everything her sobriety must remain intact. I'm grateful my dog likes his fancy new bed. I'm grateful for the suggestion someone gave me a few months back about trying a new sober app and me finally giving it a shot. I'm grateful for going back into Target and paying for the 2 Lacroix boxes that I'd forgotten were underneath my cart. I'm grateful when a meeting topic is exactly what I've been thinking about for the past day. I'm grateful to be reminded to let go of what I think the outcome should be.
For a long time a big part of my identity revolved around people not knowing me because they couldn't possibly understand my story. My pain, my upbringing, my labels - the combination was oh so special how could others relate? The reverse was true as well. People were so different from me and my uniqueness, how on earth could I understand them? By creating these barriers I felt protected. From what I don't know.
Part of it could be subconsciously covering up my addiction. If I started relating to sober fellows that meant I'd have to become reflective about my habits and I knew deep down I didn't want to question my drinking. There was also ego involved. I wanted to carry the pain and show others that I'm still surviving despite the world working to undercut me at every turn. Mind you this was far from the truth, but the narrative felt compelling enough, especially when I was inebriated, which was always. Suffice to say my baseline existence was so despondent I'm kind of in disbelief - now that I'm on the other side - at how I found pride in it. Ultimately whatever the barriers I had during my drinking, they were all rooted in fear. I was scared of everyone and everything. Only isolation coupled with Tito's felt like the right remedy.
Slowly but surely AA has been teaching me how to tackle my fears, thereby melting away my mental barriers, my prejudices, and finding identification with everyone - because it is there. What does AA suggest I do to attain this mindset? Well, many things. I have to regularly attend meetings (usually a good variety - Big Book study, Step, Speaker, LGBTQ, etc.) and actively listen for similarities - passive listening is not an option for me anymore. I have to speak with fellows from different walks of life to more intimately understand how their struggles got them onto a path of recovery. I have to find time throughout the day to "sit" quietly with myself, usually it happens when walking the dog or making the bed or driving somewhere, so I can reflect on what I've been taking in from my community. I have to engage in therapeutic activities like writing in long-form, sending out daily gratitude texts, and meditating (in my own specific way) to train me to think constructively. Finally, I need to exercise in some manner to clear my mind so it has the space for positive engagement.
When I list all this out it may seem a tad overwhelming, but at this stage in my sobriety it does feel much easier than it did in the early days... and usually it's fun. I know after I go through these set of actions I feel lighter and more open-minded. Luckily I am a creature of habit. When I latch onto certain things I really hold on for dear life. The more time I practice the above the more likely the healthy neural pathways in my brain get regenerated.
I've learnt the hard way that it is imperative to not let my innate fear build walls with people. Without booze it is much easier, but that doesn't mean I'm fully cured. Recently I've been pushing myself to go to Men's Meetings here in Denver. I feel somewhat uncomfortable in those rooms because most of the people don't look like me, the energy is quite agro, and several of the men remind me of childhood bullies who teased me for being gay or, if they didn't have the language, too effeminate. However when I truly focus on the reality of my situation while I'm in those rooms a lot of my preconceived notions are self-constructed. Some of what I feel is perhaps true, but the majority of what exists in there is just love. By pushing myself to go to those meetings and engage with my discomfort, I've been able to swat away the fear bit by bit and find common ground with these men, of which there is plenty. While I'll admit these still aren't my go-to meetings (at least for the moment), I love that I can attend and be consumed by fellowship and not fear. The momentum I gain from doing the various healthy actions I listed earlier enables me to actively reorient my mind and find kinship. AA has shown me how beautifully similar we all are in the end.